


To Be Family

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Ford being a jerk, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spanking, dumb Stan jokes, terrible attempts at predictions for future episodes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 16:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5055985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of the apocalypse, Stan decides Ford has a few things to answer for…</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Family

**Author's Note:**

> Because everyone and their mother agrees Ford deserves the spanking of his life after what happened in the most recent episode, and I must oblige.

In retrospect, Ford should have seen it coming.

The tension between his niece and nephew. The volatile age the two of them were at. A young girl’s emotions were dangerous, something Ford knew from experience, and they always had a tendency to throw a wrench in things at the worst possible time. He should have seen it coming, should have been more careful.

 But hindsight was always a frustrating thing and it hardly did him any good in the midst of armageddon. The day had been hell, quite literally. Bill revealing his hand, the very universe itself being torn asunder, the wheel coming together, his dispondent niece in the clutches of a demon…

 It was much to take in and there had already been casualties, though of course that was a given. Ford and Dipper had been left scrambling, trying to pull some semblance of a plan and an army together. Of course it wasn’t much of one, just a handful of teenagers, a blonde girl around Mabel’s age, Soos… symbols on a wheel he’d burned into his mind, hardly fighters. They were puzzle pieces right now, nothing more, and it had been a battle in itself just to bring them together. Eighteen hours and a trip to his old bunker later had left them all sweaty, tired, and still not much closer to answers than they’d been before.

 Now their merry band of misfits slept in various bunks, their grumbles held at bay by steel-enforced doors. Even Dipper had finally been persuaded to rest, though Ford was certain the boy wouldn’t be sleeping. There was too much at stake.

 So naturally, even though he’d given his word that he’d be right behind the soon-to-be-teen, Ford was still in his office. He poured over old data and his own chicken scratch from thirty years prior, scribbled down note after note only to rub them from the chalkboard in a furious motion. Surely, there was something he was missing, though what he couldn’t say. He wasn’t even sure what the connection was with all the “symbols”, other than the fact that they all made decidedly uncomfortable roommates. Frustrating. What was the connection, just what was he—

 “You knew.”

 Stanley’s voice cut off his internal monologue. Ford scowled as he looked up from his work, eyes narrowing. “Yes, I did. What of it?” He did not turn away from his desk, though he could imagine his brother’s thick shoulders and heavy hands in the doorway easily enough.

 “It was in the shack for weeks, wasn’t it? Whatever Mabel…” Stan’s voice cut off for a moment. “ That thing that Triangle Guy got from her. It was in the shack the whole time. And you never told us.”

“Dipper and I had it under control. There was no need for you to be involved.” Ford said, waving his hand dismissively as he looked back to his notes.

 “Oh yeah, this looks _real_ under control!” His brother snapped, and though his voice was growing closer, Ford did not turn to face him. “You gonna tell me the _end of the world_ was part of your master-Goddamn-plan!?”

 “Hardly, but it wasn’t exactly _my hand_ in that part of the equation, now was it?” Ford muttered, bitterness on his tongue.

 “Excuse me!?” There was a weight on the back of his chair and very abruptly, Ford was spun around to face his brother’s furious gaze. Two hands clamped down on the arms of the chair and Stan loomed over him, his thick arms and shoulders effectively barricading Ford as his brother snarled in his face. “Listen here Poindexter, I don’t care _what_ you say about me, but don’t you _dare_ blame this on my grandniece!”

 “ _Our_ grandniece,” Ford said flatly, not flinching from the angry breath in his face. He merely folded his arms before him, pushes himself into being the very picture of calm and collected. The key here was to remain in control, as always. “And we were both there for Bill’s speech. You know as well as I do that she put that rift right into his hands.”

 “She didn’t know any better! Hell, I wouldn’t have either, given that a certain somebody seems to think his own Goddamn family doesn’t have a right to know what’s goin’ on in their own home!”

 Ford arced a brow at that. “Well, it isn’t exactly _your_ home, is it?”

 He should have seen the punch coming, something Ford blames that on his own exhaustion as his head is knocked back into the cushioned chair and he’s seeing stars. He kicks out, but Stan side-steps it, giving the author room to leap to his feet and block another blow. “Be sensible about this, Stanley!” Ford grunts as he slams an elbow into Stan’s side. “Maybe you could beat me when we were kids, but I’m a lot stronger than you these days!”

 "You wanna bet, Nerdzilla!?” Stan reeled back, then made another swipe. Ford dodged and Stan ended up doubled over at his side for a moment before he lashed out with his fists again.

 Ford dodged once more spun to face his assailant, coat billowing with the motion. “Fine, if that’s how you want to play it, I’ll have to restrain you,” He muttered matter-of-factly, reaching for his belt and the specially enforced handcuffs he’d gotten back in dimension thirty-four…

 Only to find an empty spot where they had been. Ford blinked in surprise, brow furrowing in confusion for a moment. “What—“

It was just the opening Stan had needed. Abruptly Ford found a heavy knee slammed into his back, his arms tugged painfully behind him. There was a hum, a click, and for the first time in several years Ford found himself effectively restrained.

 “Stanley!” Ford exclaimed. stumbling forward but managing to retain balance. His six-fingered hands clenched into fists behind his back and he jerked in his bonds, struggling to get loose. “Let me go, you don’t even know how these work! Those handcuffs have settings for hundreds of limbs!”

 His brother laughed at that, a hand reaching out to catch Ford’s bound arms and hold him steady. “You seriously think I don’t know how handcuffs work? Usually they need a key.” Stan hefted up a small, glowing blue stick with his free hand, dangling it in Ford’s face for a moment as he waggled his eyebrows. “Word to the wise, Fordsy. You might be stronger from all that sci fi adventure garbage, but you’re still not about to beat a professional conman when it comes to slight of hand.” 

Ford gave a low growl even as he continued to jerk in his restraints. “Stanley, give me the key.”

 “Hmmm…” Stan made a face as if he were considering it, then snickered. “Nope. I’m really likin’ this whole turn of events. Think you’re gonna stay like this fera bit while we have ourselves a nice little chat.” With those words he pocketed the key.

 His twin glared at him as he continued to move. “And what, exactly, are we going to talk about?” If he could just dislocate his shoulder, he could wiggle an arm loose.

 Unfortunately, his brother seemed wise to his game. Stan’s free hand fell on the shoulder in question and he flashed a dangerous grin as he began to steer Ford toward the office chair. “Well you see, Poindexter,  I know somebody who’s gotten a bit big for his britches… and I’ve got just the cure for somethin’ like that.”

 Ford’s brow furrowed, his booted feet dragging against the dust-coated floor as Stan pulled him along. “What are you talking abo— oof!” The world spun, his coat flaring behind him as he was tipped across Stan’s lap. His brother’s knees knocked the wind out of him and Ford gasped, eyes wide as he found his face inches from his own desk and research.

 “Stanley, what do you think you’re doing!?” Ford cried, bucking in Stan’s lap as he fought to free himself.

 “You know, for the smart twin, it’s sure takin’ you some time to put two and two together,” Stan grunted as he tipped Ford forward, then clamped his legs over Ford’s kicking ones so as to effectively restrain him.

 The motion had Ford bent double over one knee as opposed to two and the whole thing sent him tumbling just a bit further downward, so now he was getting a good eyeful of just how dusty the floor was. “Let me up!” The author snapped.

 “Yeeeaaah, I’m thinkin’ _no_ ,” Stan drawled as he took the end of Ford’s coat and flipped it up over the other man’s back.

 It was this motion that finally seemed to clue Ford in and his eyes widened. “Stanley, wait just a mo— AH!” The first swat fell hard, fast, and _loud_ across the seat of his pants. Ford jerked forward, his sentence cut off in a gasp of shock and pain. “You can’t be serious about this!”

 “Does it seem like I‘m joking to you?” Stan asked as he laid down two more harsh smacks.

 Ford let out a growl, fighting to try to at least look over his shoulder and glare at his assailant.  With his legs trapped as they were, he wasn’t managing much beyond some truly undignified squirming. “Come to your senses, Stanley, we’re far too old for this!”

 “Yeah, I agree, you _are_ too old for this,” His brother snorted from above him. “But seein’ as you’ve been acting more like a spoiled brat than an adult, somehow I think I’ll find it in me to let that little detail slide. Besides, age certainly didn’t stop you from whippin’ my sorry ass a few weeks ago. It’s about time I returned the favor.” He punctuated the final word with a swat that must have taken all his strength, a blow hard enough that it had Ford grinding his teeth to bite back a cry of pain.

 “You asked me to do that!” Ford snarled, still fighting against his brother’s hold.

 “And you’ve been askin’ for this for awhile now,” Stan drawled as he continued to rain smacks down, alternating from cheek to cheek. “This whole end of the world mess is just icing on the cake. Don’t think I didn’t notice you acting all high and mighty, like you’re soooo much smarter than everyone else. You’ve got a lot t’ answer for, Stanford, so shut your yap and get comfortable.” He paused at this for a moment, then snickered as he laid down another smack squarely on the spot he’d just swatted. “Well, as comfortable as you _can_ be, I guess.”

 His brother gave a low growl at this. Throughout the past minute, he’d been struggling, but now he went very still, entire body tensing save for the occasional jerk. He grit his teeth as he fixed his gaze upon the dust on the floor, sucking in a breath. Perhaps if he tried to be rational, he could end this. “You can’t possibly think this is going to do anything to me, Stanley. I’m not a child,” He declared, keeping his voice steady and even. “You’ll have to quit eventually, I have a job to do. People need me and the more time we waste with this, the world pays for it. Come to your senses and stop this at once.” A commanding tone crept into his voice at the end, an impressive feat considering his position.

 The effect was ruined by the audible crack of Stan’s hand across his ass. “Your big bad boss voice ain’t gonna work right now, Sixer. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re the one over my knee, not the other way around. I ain’t stoppin’ until you’re good and sorry.”

 Ford bit back a hiss of pain, biting down on his lip. This was so stupid, but whatever, if he had to say it to get this over with, he would. “Fine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the dimensional rift,” He said woodenly. “Mind you, this is something you couldn’t have possibly understood or done anything about. But I’m _very_ sorry, Stanley, now let me up.”

 This got him three more swats for his trouble. Stan snickered. “Seriously, is that all you’ve got? Man, you’ve gotten waaaay worse at fake apologies! Sorry Stanford, but I think you know what I’m waitin’ for and that ain’t it.”

 A frustrated growl bubbled its way up from Ford’s throat. “I’m not sure what you’re expecting from me here, Stanley! What, do you want me to cry like when we were kids!? Because that’s not going to happen, you have my word on that! I’ve withstood torture before, this is nothing.”

 “Torture!? You think this is t _orture_?”

 The swats paused and Ford felt a small bit of hope. Perhaps his brother had come to his senses after all. He then found himself shifted in his brother’s lap, moved upwards slightly. “Hardly, but you’re missing my point,” Ford said, trying to seem calm. “We’re not children anymore, Stanley. Obviously, this is fruitless, so if you’d let me up we can discuss this like adults and— what are you _doing_?!” His tone was completely ruined by the note of panic creeping into his voice, but it also wasn’t every day that someone else started undoing his belt for him.

 “Can’t believe you’re comparing this to torture, how overdramatic can you be?” He heard his brother muttering as his dark jeans were peeled back. Cool air hit bare skin and Ford let out a gasp that was drowned out by Stan’s next words. “This ain’t torture, Ford, it’s a punishment and it’s not up for debate.”

 Down came Stan’s hand again, the swat against his bare flesh considerably louder than before. “Ah!” Ford cried out against the new, sharper sting. “Stanley, please, someone will hear!”

 “Pretty sure you told me these walls were soundproof. And even if they ain’t, you getting an attitude adjustment could definitely use an audience.” Stan continued to land swats as he spoke, still alternating from cheek to cheek. His strikes seemed random, but he always managed to cover every inch of Ford’s ass before returning to an old spot to rekindle warmed flesh.

 Ford let out a string of curses never heard in this dimension prior. His brother responded by landing a heavy swat across both cheeks, forcing the author to end his swearing with a yelp of pain. “I don’t have to know your wild science mumbo jumbo to know what you just said couldn’t have been good,” Stan chirped conversationally.

 His victim sucked in a hot breath though his nostrils, then spat out a considerably less jolly “Fuck you!”

 “Tsk,” Two more swats that had Ford squirming in Stan’s lap. “You’re lucky the kids ain’t around to hear you or I’d wash your mouth out with soap next.” These words drew a snarl of pure rage mixed with pain from his brother. Stan merely snorted. “Yeesh, that’s one hell of a tantrum you’re throwing. At this rate I’ll have to gag you if I’m ever going to get around to the lecture.”

 “This is absurd, Stanley!” Ford cried. “I have done nothing wrong! All I’ve tried to do is keep this dimension safe, that’s all I’ve _ever_ done, and you— AAH!” He was tipped just a little farther forward, the motion knocking his glasses askew. This became the least of his problems when Stan began to swat at the spot where his ass met his thighs.

 “Yeah, I think I’ve heard enough. I was serious about the gag thing, next time I hear you start goin’ on about how great you are I’m finding some duct tape,” Stan said as he unleashed a flurry of blows upon the tender spot.

 “Ah, Ah, AH!”  Ford’s voice took on a truly pathetic lilt as the blows snapped across the backs of his thighs.“Stanley, Stanley, aah! Not there!”

 “Hurts, don’t it?” Stan drawled as he began a series of lighter but much quicker slaps to Ford’s bare thighs. “You’ve never been all that great at taking your licks, Ford. In your defense, it ain’t too often that I’m the one whippin’ you, is it? Nah, usually I’m the dumb one… but when you screw up, you screw up _good_.”  He punctuated the last word with a hard slap across the bunch he’d just laid down, causing his brother to cry out in pain.

 “Now I’m not gonna claim to be a genius, you can have that damn title if you need it,” Stan growled as he moved back to swatting Ford’s behind. “But if the world’s about to end right under my Goddamn feet, I think I have a right to know! Hell, not just me, your whole family! This whole mess coulda been avoided if you had just _told_ someone!”

 Ford had spent this entire rant somewhat breathless, fighting to keep the air from his lungs if only so as to avoid crying out from the onslaught. Finally, however, he was forced to draw another hot breath through his nose, and with the air came more angry words. “And what would you have done, huh Knucklehead? The whole reason we’re in this mess in the first place is because you had the gall to turn the portal back on!”

 “After you _begged me_ to save you!” Stan snarled, and the sheer vitriol in his tone was only matched by the fury of his blows. Ford’s eyes widened in shock as his brother began to swat with such speed and strength that he could not tell where one agonizing blow ended and the next began.

 “Do you have any idea how many times I went over that stupid fight in my head!? Every damn night, Ford, every night for thirty Goddamn years! Thirty years and all I had was one stupid book talking about how great this stupid town was! You wanna know what you said to me, Stanford Pines!? You said ’Do something, Stanley, save me!’ You said ‘do something’ and I spent thirty years learning _nuclear physics_ to save your sorry ass!”

 Ford squeezed his hands into fists from their place trapped behind his back, kicked his legs out as much as he could. Of course this did nothing against the growing sting, and his breath began to come out in small, pained gasps as he fought back screams. He would not cry, damnit, he would not cry! But _God_ Stanley was strong and he was grasping at straws for something, anything to argue with. “I-I…b-but… my warnings, you should have read my warnings!” Ford finally gasped out in a strangled tone.

 “Oh, I read them!” Stan let out a humorless laugh. “I read them and you know damn well I ignored them! What else was I supposed to do, huh?!”

 “You should have left me!” Ford finally screamed. The blows stopped and Ford’s words hung in the duty stillness of the room, caught in his shaking breath and shuddering frame as he lay draped across his brother’s knee. “I… you should have left me. I didn’t come looking for you for ten years, so why did you…”

 He heard Stan draw a breath of his own. “Because all I’ve ever done is follow you, dumbass.” Then he felt strong hands on his arm and rather abruptly Ford found himself hauled up from his brother’s lap. The author’s feet scrabbled for purchase on the dusty floor, balance made all the more difficult by his pants still being trapped around his ankles. 

 Stan met his eyes briefly, his expression stern. “We ain’t done, Sixer,” He declared before putting a strong hand between his brother’s shoulder blades and marching him across the room.

 Ford could do little beyond shuffle where he was directed, expression one of confusion as he found himself abruptly shoved into a corner. “Stanley, you can’t be serious…” He groaned.

 Another swat landed across his already abused ass, eliciting a hiss from him. “If you still think I’m not serious, there’s plenty where that came from,” Stan growled into his ear. “Now I have to go get something. I want you to stand here until I get back and put some good thought into it, you got me? If you move so much as an inch, you’re gonna be sorry.”

 Ford said nothing.

 Stan swatted him again and Ford arched up onto his booted toes. “ _Yes_ , Stanley, whatever you say,” He ground out through gritted teeth.

 “Good boy,” Stan patted the back of his neck, a small bit of his old humor mixing into his tone before he backed away.

 Ford listened for the sound of Stan’s footsteps leaving the room. He _could_ move. He could probably get out of the handcuffs if he wanted to, he had more than enough practice on that subject. There was no way Stanley would get the upper hand a second time, especially with the tools Ford had at his disposal. Unfortunately, he was relatively certain he’d need his brother for the prophecy or whatever mess was going on with that and he wouldn’t put it past Stan to remain incredibly stubborn on the subject if this whole mess remained between them. The logical answer was to hold out until this whole emotional outburst of Stan’s was satisfied.

 And though Ford was loathe to admit it, the words he’d said earlier matched the heavy feeling of guilt in his stomach a little too well.

 He let out a sigh as he arched his back, trying to peer over his shoulder at his abused flesh. He could just catch his reflection in one of the computer side panels, and the angry red throbbing back at him when he nudged his coat out of the way was _not_ a pretty sight. He shifted backwards slightly, grimacing as he got a better look.

 “Wow, you are _really_ bad at taking orders, Poindexter.” Stan’s words made him jump, Ford’s spine going ramrod straight as he looked back to the dusty corner. 

 “Yeah, nice try, but I saw that.” Stan’s hand was on his shoulder again and Ford found himself spun around to face his brother’s dark smirk. “You wanna stare at your own ass that badly, you do it on your own time. But hey, if you’re really that eager to get back to it, don’t let me stop ya.” He held up a wooden spoon in his free hand, twirling it with a jovial air that did not suit the situation.

 Ford paled. “Where did you get _that_!?”

 “Oh, I might’ve thought it’d come in handy when we were all headin’ out. Might’ve picked it up before we were all so rudely evacuated by the whole apocalypse business,” Stan said cheerfully as he began to steer Ford back toward the office chair. “Might’ve thought my dear brother of mine has been asking for this for some time now…”

 “You were _planning_ this?!” Ford struggled, but of course his booted feet found no purchase on the metal floor.

 “Oh no, Fordsy. _You_ plan, _I_ improvise,” Stan chirped as he sat back down, tugging Ford with him.

 For the second time that night, Ford had the wind knocked out of him. This time, however, Stan left his legs free, or as free as they could be with his pants still awkwardly tangled around them. Ford did not kick and did not fight, though he told himself this was more to preserve what was left of his dignity. “This seems unnecessary,” Ford grumbled as his coat was flipped out of the way once again. “I’ll admit I’ve… made _mistakes_ , but this is absurd. At least use your belt or something.”

 “Why?” Stan asked as he tapped the wooden spoon lightly against Ford’s bottom. The hollow noise echoed through the air, a precursor that had his victim’s breath catching in his throat whether he’d admit it or not. “Does a belt seem more dignified somehow? You too big for a trip over big bad Stanley’s knee?”

 Ford felt his face grow warm. “I would certainly like to argue that— AAH!”

 The spoon cracked down. While it was definitely quieter than Stan’s hand had been, it made up for it with a sharper, more precise sting. “You see, that’s the thing you’re still not getting. You _don’t_ get to argue, not right now,” Stan said.

 He began to spank in earnest now, striking first one cheek, then the other, alternating and pointedly laying into each spot multiple times before moving to a different spot. “It’s that whole attitude that got ya into this mess in the first place. Mister high and mighty genius, the author of the journals. The hero of the family, that’s you. The only one smart enough t’ handle all that interdimensional bullshit, the man who changed the world… oh yeah, you’re a big man, ain’t ya, Stanford? Too good for everybody else, too good for this hick town, too good for your partner, too good for your dumb brother!”

 Ford took the first few blows as stoically as he could, but the sting of the spoon on top of his already warmed bottom proved to be too much. Four swats in and he was giving breathless, pained gasps with each subsequent strike. “I… I never said— AAAAHHH!”

 Stan landed a blow squarely upon his sit spot. “Don’t lie, Ford, it don’t suit you. You think you’re too good for everyone, that you’re the only one who can possibly handle all this crap. Newsflash, dumbass, I punched a pterodactyl in the face this summer. Soos ate some kind of vengeful spirit alive. Your grandniece, the one who you had the gall to _blame_ for this mess,”  He laid down several blows in quick succession and Ford let out a keening whine. “She told me she fought a bunch of unicorns after you asked her to just so she could protect this family, and what do you say? It’s just _Dipper_ who’s on the same level as you!?”

 Ford jerked his hands in his bonds, squeezed them into a fist. He began to kick out with his legs, more on reflex than out of an attempt to escape. “I… I was just trying to protect everything! I was trying to help! I was the only one who understood, you couldn’t have— ah, okay, maybe you could have, but I didn’t… I didn’t think anyone would understand and I couldn’t risk—“

 “You can’t control everything, Ford. You can’t keep the whole world on your shoulders, you have to let people help!” Stan snapped as he continued to swat.

 “No! Every time I entrust something with someone, something goes wrong!” Ford cried. “How was I supposed to know if I told you, it wouldn’t end in disaster!?”

 “You don’t!” The spoon paused. Stan took a deep breath, then continued. “You don’t… but that’s what it means to be family, you know? You’re giving someone the power to wreck you and trusting that they won’t.”

 A moment of silence.

 “Did I wreck you?” Ford asked in a shuddering breath.

 “…Maybe a little,” Stan admitted. “But hey, I wrecked you too.”

 Ford gave a small, broken little laugh at that.

 Stan gave a sigh. Then the spoon tapped on Ford’s ass once more. “We’re almost done. But you’ve been a real brat and I’m not stopping until you’re giving those dramatic hero speeches _standing_.”

 Ford swallowed heavily, his throat already thick from tears he’d been fighting back. “…Could you gag me, please?”

 “What?” Stan’s tone was one of utter confusion.

 His brother took in another shuddering breath. “Please. I can’t… I know I deserve this, I just…” His hands clenched into fists again from their trapped place behind his back, the plea hanging in the air.

 There was a moment of silence. Then Stan gave a sigh. There was the sound of rustling cloth and then Ford found his brother’s red tie shoved in his face. “You can bite down on that. Guess Mister Mystery won’t need his tie for much longer anyway.”

 Ford did as he was told, biting down on the cloth. He felt one of Stan’s hands close over the top of his trapped ones, heard the gentle tap of the spoon as his brother prepared. “Get ready.”

 There was a swoosh of displaced air and the spoon cracked down, hard, striking with such force he was certain it would bruise. Ford let out a scream into the cloth, the sound muffled. Again and again the makeshift paddle struck and Ford cried out, eyes squeezing shut as hot tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

 “You don’t have to control everything, Ford. It’s okay to let people help you. Maybe you’re the brains of the operation but I can be the brawn, you know? And not just me, you’ve got the kids… hell, even Soos and Wendy. If they can support my skeezy ass, they’ll sure as hell be there for you. You have a family, Stanford.”

 At these words and the surprising gentleness in Stan’s tone, the tears finally came. They streaked down Ford’s face in hot streams, his voice coming out in an ugly sob into the makeshift gag. He continued to kick, his legs actually arching upward before his brother pushed them back into place and continued the onslaught. This only made Ford howl and thrash, his agonized wails barely muffled by the gag.

 “You have a family and we’re not gonna let you get away with crap like this anymore, you understand me?” Stan’s voice became hard again and he began to lay down what had to be the final couple of swats. “If I ever catch you pulling this crap again or I see you actin’ all high and mighty, you’re going right back over my knee. I’ll be making this look like a light warm-up, you got that, Sixer?”

 Ten swats in, Ford finally crumbled completely. His thrashing ceased and he fell limply across his brother’s lap, the tie dropping to the ground. “Lee,” Ford choked out brokenly, entire body racked with sobs as he fell back to the nickname he hadn’t used since they were kids “Lee, Lee, ‘m sorry, please… _Lee_ …”

 He heard the sound of the spoon being set aside with a clatter, followed by the gentle hum of the energy lock in the handcuffs releasing. They clanged to the floor, something Ford barely took note of even as his arms finally dropped from their tense position. He could feel Stan’s hand on his back, warm and rubbing soothing circles, but it hardly seemed relevant as sobs and broken mumbles continued to pour from his mouth.

 “S-so sorry, sorry,” Ford whimpered. “Should have told you, shouldn’t have told Dipper not to tell, should’ve been working with you from the start, should’ve told Fiddleford about Bill…”

 “Hey, hey, I know, it’s okay,” Stan murmured gently. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 “N-no it’s not!” Ford wailed from his lap. “All I ever wanted was to do something great and I pushed you and Fiddleford and everyone else away to get there! I pushed you away and for what? I caused the apocalypse!”

 “Nah, ‘m pretty sure that’s that Triangle guy,” His brother said. “Don’t go taking all the credit, you fucked up but you’re not _that_ impressive.”

 Ford whimpered and shook his head. “Y-you should have… left me… shouldn’t have started up the portal… shouldn’t have saved m— AH!”

 Stan’s hand slapped down once more with an audible crack. “That’s enough.” He then reached down and hauled Ford up from his lap, carefully rearranging his brother so he could pull him into his arms. “You know damn well I would’ve done anything to restart that portal. I don’t care about any of that. And yeah, you screwed up, but… like you said before, we both have. Sure, you shoulda told us sooner, but what’s done is done. We’re past it now, you got me?” He continued to rub circles across Ford’s back, reached up to gently massage the back of Ford’s neck. Ford gave a low whine, but his tears did seem to be slowing. Stan gave a snort.  “You really don’t take a beating well, do ya?”

 “Shut up, Stanley,” Ford grumbled as he scrubbed at his eyes.

 “And here you’re already back to being a bossy big brother,” Stan snorted. He then let out a sigh, pressing his forehead against Ford’s. “Hey. Look at me.” When Ford met his eyes, he grinned. “You’re not a screw up, you got that? You’re my dumbass nerd brother and you’re still the smartest guy I know. With your brains and my punching, we’ve got this in the bag, you hear me?”

 Ford blinked at him. Then he sucked in a slow, shaky breath and smiled weakly. “Mystery twins?”

 “Mystery twins,” Stan agreed.  He then gently eased Ford off his lap. Ford stumbled slightly as his feet touched the floor, taking his brother’s offered arm without resistance. “Now c’mon, it’s late and you gotta rest that big brain of yours.” 

 “What, are you mom now?” Ford hissed as he pulled his pants back into place, his breath hitching as the material brushed against his decidedly sensitive backside.

 “No, but I do know it’s three AM and you haven’t slept a wink. Get goin’, Buster,” Stan said as he began to steer his brother toward the door.

 Ford let out a sigh, then grimaced as he rubbed at his throbbing bottom. “This is definitely going to bruise… I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

 “Naturally,” Stan chirped, patting him on the back. “Besides, if you have to be standing for all those big damn hero speeches, well…” He trailed off for a moment, then flashed a wide grin.

 “It’s not the end of the world or anything, right?”

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! I hope this turned out okay? To be honest I'm always more of a fan of Ford being the Spanker than the Spankee, since he strikes me as being a very dominant person, but it was interesting to try to get into his head and have Stanley running the show. I hope people enjoyed it!


End file.
